"Of course," Renata murmured after she realised that her nod probably hadn't been seen. She was far more glad than she let on that both her comrades had already been fighting when they were her age.

"This is your abandoned mill, I take it," she said after a moment when they were upon the mill. "Are we to wait here for those villagers, or did the two of you have some other business to take care of here?" After all, they must have been traveling through Iste for a reason, and it didn't seem like they had known Renata was there in the first place. "Or..." She shrugged, not caring to dwell upon whether or not any of the morning's events had been coincidence any longer.

"Ours for the moment, yes," Ambrose replied, dismounting and leading his palfrey inside. The roof had been torn away in some storm long ago and the walls were cracked and, in some places, broken through. It was a place that could be defended, but not a place that could be held long term. "Travelers use places like this for shelter when we can find it, makes the wind less chill at night." He let go of the reins, and his horse ducked its head to the grass growing up from the dirt that served as the floor. The dais in the middle of the room, where once the stone rolled to crush wheat to flour, sat empty, the stone fallen to one side.

Renata looked around the environs warily— she was not well-traveled, more used to staying in cushy inns than improvised accommodations such as this. But she was eager to adapt. As the group of three waited for the villagers to arrive, Renata mostly kept to herself, talking only when addressed as she contemplated her actions. They had been rash and unbecoming— but hadn't they let her get in contact with some like-minded personalities after all? She'd been somewhat surprised that the knight had chosen to remain in Lycia after the events in Laus he'd been involved in... or maybe it wasn't really his choice. It could be obligation holding him to the country, someone he had to find or someplace to liberate. Whatever the case, though, it wasn't Renata's business to ask at the moment.

Five villagers arrived at the abandoned mill, three of them guards from the squabble at the church earlier. They were now unmasked in both face and intentions. The other two were simple everymen fed up with their day-to-day lives, equipped with hatchets and hunting bows. Although Renata regretted the immaturity and recklessness of her display before the pews full of congregated villagers earlier today, she did not regret meeting these people. She had lost her stolen horse, an extremely useful animal for any traveler to be in the company of, as well as her scarf, which she had worn every day for so long that it had become a part of her. She had seen a glimpse of herself in a puddle on the way to the mill, and it seemed as if she was looking at a stranger.
But that stranger was among comrades, and to Renata that meant more than running away with things that were hers and some things that weren't. She had already been decried nationwide as a criminal: what else did she have to lose at this point? Renata would not so quickly leave her Lycia to rot in the hands of the Church of Sanctity: she would stand with her comrades, even if it meant death. The few villagers who had been brave enough to follow through and accept Ambrose's invitation seemed to think likewise, uncertain though their paths may have been.